


Lucky

by warpfactornonsense (ZJ_Timekeeper)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 15:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZJ_Timekeeper/pseuds/warpfactornonsense
Summary: The crew of theHMS Bountyreturns to San Francisco with Dr. Gillian Taylor and two whales in tow, but Gillian has nowhere to stay. Kirk gives her the guest room, Spock takes the master bedroom, which leaves Kirk to sleep on the couch out of consideration for Spock's uncertain memories of their bond.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR thanks to [ThereBeWhalesHere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere) who was an excellent and supportive beta reader!!

“Thanks for letting me stay here tonight, Admiral.” Gillian smiled at Jim. “I really appreciate it.”

Gillian had been dressed in a pair of Jim’s flannel pants and a Starfleet Academy Chess Club T-shirt. She looked young, almost waif-like, which was apropos - she was a woman misplaced in time. With no home, no clothing, and no friends, she had nothing here. A waif, indeed.

At least she’d have job security, as Earth’s only marine biologist who had any experience working with whales. The other things would follow quickly. She’d be just fine.

Jim smiled politely at her. “It’s no trouble at all. It’s nice to finally justify having a guest room.” He cleared his throat awkwardly as he gestured down the hall. “There should be towels in the fresher - er, bathroom cupboard. If you need anything else, let me know.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

Jim turned toward the living room, leaving her standing at the door to the guest room. Any hope he had of a decent night’s sleep in a good bed had vanished the moment Gillian needed a place to stay. Gillian took the guest bedroom, which he’d been planning to stay in. Spock would have the run of the master bedroom. 

It wasn’t that Jim didn’t want to share a bed with Spock. Quite the contrary. But he didn’t want to imply that Spock, still struggling to recall a lifetime of experiences, should have to accommodate a human who was still half a stranger, especially with Spock’s touch telepathy.

And with no other recourse, Jim was left with the couch. 

Jim sank onto the sofa in the living room with a groan, squirming and settling into the cushions. It was comfortable enough. For a couch. Of course, he’d wake up with a sharp pain between his shoulder blades and a dull ache in his lower back, but that wasn’t the worst price to pay for Spock’s comfort. Now, if he could only find that blanket...

He blinked. The lamplight was glinting off of something, right in his face.

The picture frame on the end table.

Slowly, Jim sat up and reached for it. It was him and Spock on their bonding day almost ten years ago. Just after V’Ger, Spock had been so eager to bond with Jim (not that he’d admit to it in those terms), not only to rebuild what they’d had before his failed kohlinahr attempt but to entwine their souls together irrevocably. 

Jim snorted at the memories of that day. Spock had been so calm and composed, whereas Jim had been… well. He’d been enthusiastic, but had almost been unwilling to let Spock out of his sight, afraid he’d bolt again. Spock had been back in his life for less than two months - Jim hadn’t been sure of the permanence of Spock's affections. But Spock had been so patient with him. And then, after T’Pau had left their newly joined minds, Jim knew his fears had been unfounded. He was Spock’s, and Spock was his.

Forever.

Until Khan. 

Jim shivered as he studied the photograph. His face was a ruddy red, almost a match for the Vulcan sands. It had been so hot that day - he’d been sure he was going to sweat through his robes and leave Spock with nothing but a puddle as a bondmate. Meanwhile, Spock looked as composed and dignified as he always did, albeit with a slight softening around his features as he stared at the photographer. To think he’d lost that… his own miracle, his soulmate - the Vulcan with the soft chocolate eyes and the rapier-sharp wit.

“Admiral Kirk?”

His head snapped up at Gillian’s voice across the room. He smiled sadly, his moment of introspection gone. “Please call me Jim.” He’d had enough of being addressed as “Admiral” in his own home.

“Uh, Jim.” His name sounded wrong, almost as though her hesitation distorted the sound of it. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Her blue eyes were filled with uncertainty, her movements slow as she stood half in the door frame. 

“No, no.” He lowered the frame, giving her his full attention. “Can I get you anything?”

She grinned slightly, looking like a guilty child - the oversized pajamas enhanced the image. “I just… I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Mind having trouble catching up to it all?” 

“You have no idea!” she chuckled. At his raised eyebrows, she conceded, “Well, maybe you do.” Her gaze fell to the frame in his hands. Reflexively, he tilted it, and she caught a glimpse of its contents. Her eyes widened. “Is that…?”

Almost reluctantly, he turned it fully toward her as she sat next to him on the couch. She spent a few moments silently drinking it in. Even though it wasn’t taken on Earth, and he and Spock had been wearing Vulcan robes, the implications were clear in their closeness and the ceremonial appearance of their attire. “Are you… and the captain? Like…?” She floundered for words, unsure of what to say. 

“Ten years in September,” he said. 

She nodded, her movements a little too emphatic, like she was trying to balance her lack of comprehension with too-visible approval. “I wouldn’t have, well… wouldn’t have guessed that.”

For a long while, Jim couldn’t say anything. “It’s… hard,” he said finally, staring at a spot on the carpet. He’d spilled bourbon there a few years ago when Spock had been making him laugh with his trademark sass, delivered in his usual deadpan tones. They’d never managed to get the stain out. “I still feel… love… but he’s forgotten.

“It’s not his fault,” he added, quick to defend his husband. “But it’s hard. It’s not like… he’s forgotten an inside joke, or that we were supposed to meet for lunch. He doesn’t remember _ anything_. He doesn’t know we used to play chess - that our matches would last for days. Or that he used to make me plomeek soup and grilled cheese when I got sick. That we loved watching documentaries and classic holos with Bones on Friday nights. He doesn’t remember… _ us_.”

Gillian stared at him silently, looking sympathetic. Rapt. 

Jim sighed, turning away as he set the frame facedown on the table. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her, though her face was visible in his periphery. If she gave him anything remotely like pity… 

“You don’t need to listen to all this,” he finished lamely.

Gillian smiled at him, then, her sympathy turning to warmth as he faced her once again. “I’m a sucker for hopeless cases. But I don’t think yours is. Hopeless, I mean.” 

Surprised, Jim looked over at her. Her smile widened. “I don’t think it is, either,” he finally allowed. “But as I said, it’s hard. Being here, in our own home, and.” He shrugged as his voice turned husky, and gesticulated vaguely. “Memories, and all.” 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Gillian, mercifully, took the cue. She stood, gazing at his bookshelf. “How about I get myself a bedtime story? Help me sleep.” 

Jim nodded and waved at the shelf. “Help yourself.” Ordinarily, he’d have given her restrictions on titles - none of the Dickens, London, or Melville, as they were all valuable antiques, and none of the paperbacks, which were falling apart. But somehow, none of that seemed important. What did it matter if a bunch of old paper fell apart, anyway? He might not have a job after the court martial tomorrow. Might not have a husband, either, though that was less of a likelihood. Or at least, it wasn’t likely to happen tomorrow. 

He didn’t see which book she’d selected, but heard her whispered, “good night.” Jim returned a mumble of his own as her bare feet padded quietly on the carpet toward her room. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there staring into nothingness before he registered a throw over the back of an armchair. Grunting, he stood to retrieve it, then returned to lie back on the sofa, trying to find a halfway comfortable position. At least, he thought, he was in his own home, and not the _ HMS Bounty._ The smell here was familiar, comforting, and the sounds of the city were a more consistent white noise. “Lights off,” he muttered, just loud enough for the computer to hear. The light through his eyelids dulled from red-orange to a purple-black. 

“Jim?”

His eyes snapped wide open at that deep voice. Jim almost didn’t dare to move, as though he might startle Spock into fleeing. “Yes?”

“Are you not coming to bed?”

Slowly, almost mechanically, Jim sat up and turned to Spock, who stood across the room, dignified in a pair of black silk pajamas and a maroon dressing gown, turned plum in the light coming through the windows. He looked like he’d come from a stage play, too neat and pristine, as though he were only performing the part of a sleepy husband.

“Lights, thirty percent,” Jim said, and a warm glow bathed them both, wrapping them in golden tones. “I… thought I’d disturb you less if I slept out here.”

Spock gave a single, slight nod. “Ah. Your tendency to kick in your sleep.”

Jim’s eyes widened in wonder, not sure if he should laugh or cry. He might do both. He swallowed heavily. “I meant… I wasn’t sure if… I didn’t want to pressure you.”

It wasn’t even about sex. He didn’t want Spock to feel guilted into staying with him. After all, this Spock was a lot closer to the Spock he’d first met, or the Spock who’d left Gol but who hadn’t yet met V’Ger. 

Spock’s eyes softened - probably no one but Jim would’ve noticed. “I am a Vulcan. I am incapable of feeling pressured.”

“Of course,” Jim chuckled faintly. “Silly me.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. All was still as they stared at each other. 

Spock’s gaze flitted to the end table. “Why have you overturned that picture?”

Jim looked over at the frame he’d just been handling, suddenly guilty over his thoughtlessness at setting the picture aside. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Or perhaps he had - it was hard to tell. Quickly, he set the frame up properly, fumbling a few times in his haste. “I… wasn’t sure if… I didn’t want to put any expectations on you. You don’t have to… well.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You have a fresh start. A new chance at life.”

“I found this acceptable before,” Spock said quietly. “It seems logical to resume my life here.”

“You’re free to find something more than ‘acceptable,’ if you want,” Kirk said, perhaps a little too sharply with hasty assurance. 

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was almost a reprimand.

Something inside Jim fractured. “You called me ‘Jim.’”

“You have requested that I do so.”

And there it was - the final straw that broke his already compromised composure. He let out a hysterical laugh, almost a giggle, before remembering that Spock might not appreciate it, and abruptly ceased. “Yes.” He couldn’t say anything else, held spellbound by Spock’s dark eyes.

Spock stiffened at his silence and drew himself up to his full height, as though he hadn’t been standing with perfect posture before - which he had. It always stymied Jim how Spock could make his already perfectly straight spine somehow straighter and taller. “Likewise, you have been freed of previous arrangements. If you wish, I shall seek out alternate lodgings in the morning.”

“No!” 

The word was out before he could think of a more diplomatic response. Spock raised a single eyebrow at him.

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “No. I was just… I’m so glad you’re back. I just don’t want to overwhelm you or… force you to go back to how things were, or make you feel like I’m…” he trailed off. “So I’ve been trying to… keep my feelings in check.”

“And yet, it did not occur to you that, by your lack of demonstration, I might believe that you no longer wish to be bonded to me.”

Jim blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him. 

“No! God, Spock, no!” He got up with all speed, tossing his blanket onto the floor in the process, and crossed the room to stand before him. “I didn’t intend that at all. I’m so sorry. I… I love you. And… I want you to stay here. Bonded. With me.” He swallowed and looked at Spock seriously. “But _ not _if you feel you’re forced to out of some sense of duty, or because you felt you had no other option. I didn’t…” he sighed. “I didn’t want to suffocate you. I didn’t know if or when you’d feel comfortable with me again.”

Jim closed his eyes for a moment and stood there, knowing that whatever Spock said next would answer all his questions. But he continued speaking, not yet able to hear Spock’s words. “I love you, Spock,” he said quietly, staring at the baseboard near Spock’s feet. “So much. Whatever you want to do…” he turned his gaze to Spock’s deep brown eyes, inscrutable in the lamplight, “I’m just glad you’re still here. Not everyone is so lucky that their husband comes back from the dead.”

“Jim.” Spock took a single step forward. His expression turned pensive, as though he were on the verge of remembering something. “You… almost make me believe in luck.”

A horrid choking noise escaped Jim’s throat - it was neither laughter nor tears, but somehow both. “_Spock_. You _ make _me believe in miracles.” He smiled as a tear ran down his cheek and he gave into the impulse to close the distance between them. “My own miracle.”

Spock’s arms around him were everything he’d ever wanted, the only thing he’d craved for the past few weeks. God, had it only been such a short time? Jim melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Spock and curling his fingers into the silk robe. He wasn’t close enough. Would never be close enough, not until he burrowed his way back into Spock’s mind and stayed there. 

But just being in Spock’s embrace, both providing and receiving reassurance from his bondmate, was pretty damn wonderful. Jim hummed and squeezed Spock briefly, but didn’t let go.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was more of a rumbling vibration than an audible noise. “I believe we would benefit from rest.”

“Would you like me to stay out here?” His voice was muffled by his refusal to move his face from Spock’s neck. Long fingers combed through Jim’s curls. Bliss. 

“No. I believe I would find… comfort… from your proximity.”

Jim pulled back and beamed at him. “The feeling is mutual, Spock.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted two things from a post-fal-tor-pan fic: 1) Gillian being cool and supportive, and 2) Spock taking issue with Jim keeping his emotions to himself. Hope I did okay! I'd love to hear any feedback you may have, and feel free to reach out on tumblr (warpfactornonsense) or twitter (warpfactor_zj) if you want to see more Trek shenanigans and/or fan art.


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